


we'll be looking for sunlight

by youspeakmysoul



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fix-It, post ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-09 07:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6895312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youspeakmysoul/pseuds/youspeakmysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her words echo through his head as he sits and waits; clinging to the burn that claws across his chest reliving her harsh words that anchor him to the uncomfortable waiting room chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. my heart could be yours

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at this fandom but I couldnt leave the finale as it was so this is me fixing it. The title is from _Halsey-Roman Holiday_ and the chapter title is from _Banks-Under the Table_.

_"I will never trust you again."_

Her words echo through his head as he sits and waits; clinging to the burn that claws across his chest reliving her harsh words that anchor him to the uncomfortable waiting room chair. He knows he should've been there to prevent this, feels the guilt rest on his shoulders threatening to topple him. Replays the conversation over and over in his mind. He knows he should’ve stopped her leaving, pulled her to him, explained his actions better, made her see sense, and told her everything was going to be okay if only she would trust him. 

_"You left me no choice."_

His hands clench in to fists, nails biting in to flesh. He aches at the thought of her last words spoken to him being in anger. He should have fought harder, fought for them, for their lives together, for her life. He can't believe it has come to this. The adrenaline has faded to anxious pacing, can feel the tension thrumming through him to do something, he feels too restless. Take action, hit something, make a scene and scream at someone to let him see his wife. He does none of those things, he paces. Tries to starve off the dread that settles like a weight in the pit of his stomach. He hates hospitals. They tend to make him relive moments he’d rather not, memories that seem like a life time ago but makes his skin crawl and only all too eager to escape. He falls back in to his chair, frustrated. He’s been around hospitals long enough to know that he won’t get near his wife until they say so. 

_"Well you left me none."_

He’s almost angry with her but on some level he understands and wants to regret calling Dylan, knows that he started this fall of dominoes he couldn’t control. Now, he's just defeated, empty as he realises he can't protect her all the time. He would choose her life over his own every time, without a moment of hesitation. But even that choice has been taken from him. Alex is by no means a religious man, couldn't put much faith in a god that delights in taking everything that matters away from him, but in this moment he prays to every deity he can name. For her to open her eyes, ready to sacrifice anything and everything, every piece of himself, for her to just open her eyes. He’s been warned to prepare for the worst, blurred conversations of statistic upon statistic of survival rate, possible consequences and complications but he knows she can’t leave him yet, she won’t. 

_“How long were you married?”  
“Two weeks.”_

A nurse that looks vaguely familiar asks to speak with him. He visibly flinches and it takes too long for her words to register through the ringing in his ears. “She’s stable now, she can sit with her if you wish.” His heart’s beating too fast and stable is too hopeful a word but it doesn’t mean she’s going to be okay, or even survive. It’s not sadness that people drown in but hope. His mother was deemed stable for a long time, that didn’t mean she was living. 

He takes a moment to stare at her through the window on the door, watches the rise and fall of her chest almost religiously whether it be artificial or not. Almost afraid to enter the hushed room, afraid to break whatever spell is currently keeping her alive. Two weeks, it sounds like a cruel joke that it’s been so soon. He wants forever but would settle for the end of his days. The ache in his chest pushes him forward, to see her, feel her, protect her. 

His eyes burn and his breath catches in his throat as he drops in to the chair closest to her bedside, positioning it so that his knees are hard pressed to the railing, as close as he can get but it doesn’t feel close enough. He wants to mould himself around her, maybe if there was a physical barrier between her and the rest of the world he could breathe again. Her hand lies limp at her side and he threads his fingers through hers, as he has so many times before and the missing inevitable tightening of her fingers around his feels like a lost limb. He makes purposeful circles over the back of her hand, trying to will heat and a picture of life back in to them. 

He deliberately presses his mouth to each finger, whispering nonsensical endearments, pleas of survival. He is still his husband after all, despite what her empty finger appears to say, and even that felt like a punch to the stomach, winded him as soon as he saw. His mother’s ring. The only thing he wanted from her possessions. He didn’t intend to ever get to use it, marriage was never something he wanted, but he couldn’t let his father leave his traces on her even in death and so he took it. Kept it safe and out of sight, never wanting to use it.

He has it again now, a vicious cycle of give and take, it sits inside his pocket resting over his heart. Doesn't imagine her handing it back to him, only placing it on her finger. The shocked warmth in her eyes, happy he dares to imagine as he put it on. The only place it belongs now is on her finger, can't picture it elsewhere and he wants desperately to return it to her but after reading her letter he feels wrong-footed, as though they’re too far apart right now. 

_“Did you know she was leaving you?”  
“She wasn’t leaving me.”_

Even after everything he knows she wasn’t leaving him, knows her better than that. She thought he was going to leave her. As though trying to get Norman back in to Pine View was his way of trying to leave her, of giving up, instead of the desperate plea to keep her safe. That’s what she does, she runs. He would have made her see that leaving her is impossible, that he knows this can work. He will make her see that, as soon as she wakes up. He can’t comprehend the idea of her thinking he would leave her, she was so unexpected in the best possible way. So in love with her none of the other shit matters, it’s just her.

The hours crawl by and he feels the doubt creep in; she felt too cold, too still in his arms. His fingers shook trying to find a pulse which is fucking crazy because he’s the goddamn sheriff, thrives under pressure, doesn’t let anything shatter him like this. Yet he clings to the steady hum of her heart monitor, clings to it as his own personal lifeline. _Don't you fucking leave me, you can’t_. Life without her seems incomprehensible now, a life not worth living. Even the thought of it makes his chest ache. It’s only been two weeks which makes him want to laugh but knows it would be a cold, vicious sound because in reality it has been so much longer. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment she became essential to him, his need to protect her came as easy as breathing and he couldn’t even do that. His own helplessness makes him sick to his stomach.

_“We were happy when we were in a bubble.”_

He wants to continue to make her happy, knows he can. All he’s asking the universe for is a chance. She would laugh at that, call him ridiculous, and he would blame her influence and remind her of their conversation about fate. He’s never felt comfortable with the thought a higher being having the ability to control his life, rip every happiness from his arms, but if they’re feeling merciful he will get on his knees right now. It hurts so much more knowing how happy they were; how his day started kissing her awake and ended with her by his side. Knows what it’s like to hear _I love you_ from her mouth. Wants to turn back time, hold her a second longer, pour promises in to her mouth, kill every nightmare, take her away from every unhappy memory. He’s so sick of not getting to be happy.

"Alex?" It's a wet choked noise that vaguely resembles his name, blocked only by the oxygen mask. 

His mind goes utterly bank and he's reaching for her trying to force air in to his own lungs, "Norma, sweetheart."

"I'm so sorry, Alex I'm so sorry." She's crying, tears running steadily down her beautiful cheeks and he shushes her gently as he cradles her head in his palms, a quiet indulgence, almost dizzy with relief flooding through his veins. Carefully brushing away the wetness on her cheeks, he presses his lips to her temple, drawing her as close as he dares. 

“It’s okay, everything is going to be okay,” he whispers forcefully, as though trying to convince her to believe him. Her only response is a quiet sob and he’s almost sure he’s crying too when her small hand rests on his jaw. The slight pressure of her skin on his makes everything go blissfully still and he moves to kiss her palm, a mirror image of when he teased her to not screw it up. As long as she’s here and alive, nothing else matters.

“I love you. I will always love you, okay?” It’s hushed, reverent and slightly in awe of her. Stunningly awake and alive under his fingertips. He can’t let her even think otherwise for a moment. She mouths the words back to him and he almost misses it as her eyes drift closed once more.

It takes minutes after the doctors rush in for him to realise he’s trembling, ushered out of the room but still hope unfurls warm and right rising through his body.

_She came back. She came back. She came back._


	2. won't you make it your home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also filled with complete denial of the finale so here we go. Chapter title from _Banks- Under the Table_.

The drive to her house feels too quiet. She hates the silence, always so eager to fill it but Alex accommodates it so well. He’s been such a quiet, steady addition to her life it throws her slightly off balance. One day he’s just there as though he always has been. He appears more at ease in the quiet whereas it just makes her anxious, feels the urge to drum her fingers on the dashboard or turn on the radio. She wonders what kind of music he likes, has never heard him use the radio or listen to any music in general. Besides her attempts of piano, of course which he seems to enjoy. She wants to know everything about him, feels like she only knows so little.

Alex parks up in front of her house and it suddenly hits her and she can’t breathe. Doesn’t want to be reminded of her life, not yet. She can’t go in there. It’s as though he can sense her reluctance, most days he can read her like a book, because he doesn’t get out of the car either.

He does turn to her as though he wants to say something but the words blurt out before she has a chance to think about them, “Let’s go to your house.”

He seems startled for a moment before his eyes soften, gentle in response. “Norma you can’t hide at my house.”

The more she thinks about it, the more appealing of an option it sounds, her house looms almost threatening above them, which is ridiculous because she loves her house but right now it’s all too much. Her house is too cold with too many memories and Alex’s house seems a million miles from that.

 “I know and I know it’ll only be harder to go in tomorrow and all that shit but I don’t want to, please Alex I don’t want to go in there, not yet.”

It comes out more desperate than she was aiming for and she must look visibly shaken despite her best efforts because he leans over and brushes his lips to her temple “Okay.”

Standing outside his house is almost worse as she can’t help but remember the last time she stood on his steps, was it only ten days ago? _“I’m not giving you up.”_ But she did, whether it was intentional or not. It was intentional at the time, almost a reflex now, leave before you’re left.

They haven’t talked about anything; not her bare ring finger, not their fight, not Norman. Her life is such a mess right now but that’s nothing new to her, she carries failure and disappointment like shadows, but it’s harder with him. She wants this to succeed so badly yet she’s the one who fled by accusing him of trying to leave. It isn’t reasonable but it is what it is. She’s never allowed herself to be happy before but she knows Alex makes her happy, even if she is constantly bracing herself for the inevitable fallout.

He seems to be intent on giving her space, not wanting to push her in anything, which she would find sweet if space wasn’t the very last thing she wants.

She knows he still has the ring, her ring, found it inside his jacket whilst looking for a pen or something a few days ago but he hasn’t mentioned it and she hadn’t wished to bring it up in fear of the answer. She feels constantly on edge with him, a gnawing fear curled in her stomach that she loathes. She can’t stand being so distant, especially not with Alex.

She watches his hand hover over the small of her back as they walk through the door and it irritates her for some small reason she can’t name. His hesitation to touch her makes her reckless with wanting him, needs to be closer to him. She catches his lips with hers as soon as he closes the door behind her, surprising him with the force. He quickly makes up by reversing their positions so that he’s crowding her against the door. Her hand is settled on his jaw and his hands are in her hair and it’s all too easy and familiar until he pulls away.

His breathing quickens against her neck, “This is not a good idea.”

She wants to laugh because even this is familiar but she doesn’t because it’s off somehow and she doesn’t know how to fix this, if it even can be fixed. He moves back from the doorway and a chill grips her as she wraps her arms around herself in an attempt to keep herself upright. It almost makes her angry, he keeps looking at her as though she is seconds away from fading right in front of him. She wants to make this right again but there’s not some kind of book she can give him like how to deal when your wife’s son tries to kill you. She’s not really sure how she’s coping with it, she’s not stopping long enough to consider it.

He looks at a loss of what to do; she’s here in his house, not in a hospital bed but breathing and alive and she understands to an extent. “You should probably lie down for a while, the doctor’s said you’d probably be a little drowsy-“

“Alex,” she interrupts him, as she tries to gather her resolve to lessen the space between them, to just get closer to him, carefully as though he’s easily spooked.

But he carries on regardless, intent on ignoring her oncoming advances, “But my bed’s made and everything so you should probably lie down and I’ll figure out food.”

“Please, Alex.”

It’s a soft admission but it stops him abruptly. She’s not opposed to begging him, with any other man it would feel too much like a weakness but she knows she is his, doesn’t have the heart to refuse her anything. She’s not blind to the fact he would do anything for her, his need to protect her is a constant that she fears she can no longer live without.

She’s close enough now to curl in to his chest again and his arms wrap tightly around her whether he’s aware of it or now. Something in her chest lessens and for the first time she thinks she can breathe properly.

“You always did make me feel safe,” she whispers.

He almost laughs but it’s a brittle, broken sound that cracks her heart a little “I can’t fucking lose you.”

She cradles his head in her hands and waits until she can make him meet her eyes and look at her because she gets it, this wasn’t supposed to be like this, “You haven't. I’m still here.”

His eyes slide close as she ducks her head to press her lips to his neck, hot and wanting, just under his jaw. She watches how his eyelashes delicately rest against his cheekbone and it hits her suddenly how much she wants him, want to let him give her everything. Can feel his resolve crumble as she grazes the skin just over his pulse with her teeth and he grips her hips just on the cusp of too hard. What she expects is a frantic rush to his bedroom but he just kisses her sweetly before guiding her slowly, carefully across the hall.

“Please Alex, I want to forget. Make me forget.”

One hand makes its way to her side, palm resting hot and heavy just above the waistband of her dress, spanning her waist. His other hand deftly finds the zipper at the base of her neck, trailing it maddening slowly to the base of her spine. Her dress slides from her shoulders to the ground, the sound a mere whisper of fabric in the hush of the room.

“You are so beautiful,” he mouths against her collarbone and a slow heat thrums through her. It’s not the first time he’s said it but she believes it every time he does.

The backs of her knees hit his bed and he pushes her down gently which incites a delighted gasp. He quickly shrugs out of his shirt and lowers himself over her. He just stares down at her as though he’s trying to memorise every feature, every scar, as though he’ll never get the chance again. She arches up to catch his bottom lip between her teeth with enough pressure that he hisses slightly in what she knows isn’t pain and he kisses her ruthlessly in response, pressing her back in to the mattress. 

His mouth makes its way down her neck and his tongue darts out to make a wet trail along the delicate bones of her chest as she allows her fingers to run through his hair, tugging slightly as his hands sweep up her sides. She whimpers as clothing is pushed aside and he’s murmuring hushed endearments in her ear and her breasts are pressed against his chest.

Her skin feels too tight stretched over her bones, her name coming out as hot, erratic gusts of air against her shoulder falling from his lips. His knuckles smooth against her thighs that tremble slightly but part easily and her body feels strung taunt, breath held in anticipation. Everything stills when they finally move together. He rolls his hips against her and her nails bite in to his shoulders. 

_"_ I can’t believe I almost lost you _,”_ he groans against her neck and she almost misses it as he thrusts particularly hard and her head falls back against the pillow with a loud gasp. Her thighs rise to cradle his hips and her legs tighten around his waist. 

It’s messy and perfect as she tries to string the inarticulate noises she’s making together in to some resemblance of words while he presses his lips to every piece of skin he can reach. “I love you. I love you.” She kisses him hard, with purpose as his mouth opens under her.

He groans and visibly shudders as she strains to bite his earlobe, a gentle sting of pleasure and the way he whispers her name when he comes back everything better and worse. She throws her head back as it hits her and for a spilt second she stops breathing. His fingers dig in to the flesh of her hips as if he’s trying to consume her, burrow under her skin until he can’t distinguish himself from her.

She stares down at him; eyes closed, breathing heavily but relaxed, almost peaceful. She doesn’t want to speak nor even breathe in fear she would shift and alter this moment, this fragile instant of calm they have created would cease to exist. The outside would get in and they would crack open in response.

His eyes open to meet hers and shift to concern as she realises she’s crying and pulls back from him, hastily wiping her cheeks. She can feel the tension flooding his muscles as she carefully lifts her body from his, and makes her way to what she assumes is his bathroom. It occurs to her in the back of her mind that she’s never seen past his living room, and bedroom now she corrects.

She can’t seem to find the words to say anything, just grabs the closest piece of clothing she can reach which turns out to be his shirt, close the door behind her and remember to try and force air in to her lungs. She studies herself in the mirror as though she’s expecting a different face to stare back at her. A flush is ebbing from her cheeks and settling over her chest, her lips slightly swollen. A red mark blossoms over her collarbone where his lips pressed just moments before.

She lets her fingers trace over the bruise and smiles despite the tears that won’t stop making their way down her cheeks. She feels as though she’s falling constantly and yet this is one of the rare times it isn’t terrifying. She grips the sink steadying herself, knows if she lets herself cry properly she isn’t sure she could stop. So she puts on a brave face, she’s good at that, had enough practice.

She looks up as she hears a knock at the door, “Norma?”

He’s thrown on a pair of jeans and he looks at her with such worry that when he reaches for her, she takes his hand almost immediately, letting him pull her to him. She felt the warm pressure of his hands clasped at the base of her spine. He doesn’t ask if she’s okay because he knows she’s not but she answers anyway, placing light kisses across his chest. “It’s okay. I just got a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”

He just nods and guides her back to his bed as if he’s afraid she’s going to drop.

“You should be resting, I’ll make us something to eat.”

“Alex? Thank you.”

His only response is a grunt of acknowledgment as she nestles back in to his bed, surrounded by warmth and the scent of him.

-

 He brought her dinner in bed; well more like breakfast apologising that eggs were the only thing in his fridge. She doesn’t question that he could have ordered something which she has no doubt from the many takeout boxes she found in his room at the motel that he could have easily done. She knows that underneath all the scowl and the gruff exterior he protects with his badge and gun, there’s a sweetness to Alex Romero. She doubts if anyone else in this town gets to see that and the thought that this is just for her makes her smile, makes her feel protected and loved.

It also however reminds her of the of mothers day’s breakfasts in bed. Norman and Dylan appearing in the bedroom doorway, their tiny hands reaching for her with a small attempt at breakfast, quietly so as not to wake Sam. Those are the better memories worth treasuring and she figures whoever it is up there really has it in for her because she hasn't be reminded of those times for years.

Her life is so different now, for better or worse. Her son is confined to a hospital bed, Dylan hates her and is moving to Seattle and she’s in the bed of a man that loves her, that she has no secrets from, has seen every flaw and still loves her. She suddenly feels very unworthy of such a scene, like sooner or later he’s going to realise that she’s not what he wants.  

“I trust you. I mean it, I trust you, more than anyone right now but I don’t trust this.” Her head is pillowed on her shoulder, idly tracing patterns on his chest but she pitches her voice low enough that he could ignore it if he wanted to.

His breath catches in his throat and she senses something that feels a lot like doubt settle in to her stomach, pains her slightly. He sighs loudly and it echoes through the quiet of the room before he rolls them gently- though it catches her off guard nonetheless. He braces himself on his forearms above her and he just stares down at her for a moment and she feels vulnerably exposed, wishes she hadn’t said anything.

His expression is raw and she can detect a slight hurt that bleeds in to his eyes but he tucks a wayward curl behind her ear ever so tenderly. “Do you remember when you asked me if everything was going to be okay?”

She nods unconsciously catching her bottom lip between her teeth and he brushes it with his thumb, warmth flooding his gaze, “Well I still do.”

Uncertainty rises in her, bristling with an indignation that she can’t control, “You can’t know that Alex, everything is so messed up and I-“

He kisses her quickly, swallowing the rest of her sentence. She thinks she should break the kiss, fight and tell him what she wanted she say but instead she relaxes, leans in to him, trying to breathe him in. “We’ll figure it out Norma, together.”

She knows she still looks unconvinced because he links his fingers with hers, pressing his lips to their entwined hands. “Trust me, Norma.”

“I do.”

It’s all she can say because she does and it seems to put him at ease as he pulls her back down so that she’s lying across his chest as she settles against him once more, hoping sleep will be quiet and easy. He kisses her shoulder briefly and she breathes out _I love you_ because him being even the least bit unsure of her feelings is unfathomably awful.

Tomorrow, she’ll go home, pick up the pieces of her life. Tomorrow she’ll phone Pine View about readmitting Norman. Tomorrow she’ll try to figure out all of this mess.

He shifts slightly to wrap his arm tighter around her waist as she buries her head deeper in to his neck. Safe and content.

_Tomorrow, together._


End file.
